


Normal

by honeysweetcutie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, F/M, One Night Stands, Past Gaslighting, Past Sexual Assault, Ron Bashing, Truth or Dare, past emotional and verbal abuse, that aren't so singular
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29700303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysweetcutie/pseuds/honeysweetcutie
Summary: Hermione knows chocolate is sweet. She thinks Draco might be sweeter. The night of their five-year Hogwarts reunion, a game of Truth or Dare leads her to reveal her most shameful secrets. Secrets that even the sweetness of chocolate cannot cure. She just wants to know what it feels like to be normal. [TRIGGER WARNINGS APPLY]
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	1. Trigger Warnings and Notes

**THIS STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL HAVE RAPID UPDATES**

**I left the Harry Potter fandom.**  
This is being uploaded for archive purposes so that it is always clear who wrote it. There are 7 chapters completed.  
The story is also available to read and comment on my website without signing up for anything. You go to honeysweetwriting dot com / fanfictions, and the pdf chapters are there.

 **DO NOT FEEL INCLINED TO LEAVE A REVIEW**. Simply enjoy reading without the pressure of leaving a comment~

**COVER ART IS DRAWN BY ME.**

* * *

This story came about when I wanted to write a food kink scene inspired by Bleak Manor but it ended up becoming a completely different thing.

I ended up drawing from my abusive relationship that I finally got out of this past Summer. He was so repulsed by my body and by me that he never touched me, anytime I felt interest in having sex he told me there was something wrong with me and it wasn't normal, and he never called me beautiful.

I hope this story can bring healing.

* * *

**TRIGGER WARNINGS**

Ron bashing

Generalized anxiety disorder

Panic attacks

Bad BDSM etiquette

OOC Hermione because she has a severe anxiety disorder, minor PTSD, and is a victim of past emotional and mental abuse

This is Black Hermione and tattooed Draco

_If you believe I have missed a trigger warning at any time, kindly send me a respectful PM and I will add it in if I agree!_

* * *

**As always, I write trauma recovery from personal experience so be mindful and respectful in your reviews. I monitor them all-including signed-in ones.**

**Thank you!**


	2. Chapter One

__

_cover art drawn by me_

**Normal -** **Chapter One**

Hermione knows the chocolate is sweet.

It's the most expensive bar of chocolate she found at the shop. It's the one with the highest cacao percentage possible without sacrificing the milk. Besides, she knows dark chocolate isn't quite the same as a nice, solid chunk of creamy, melt-in-the-mouth milk chocolate. She knows because it's her favorite and that's why she bought it.

But when she bought it, she wasn't expecting a game of Truth or Dare to involve that chocolate. She wasn't planning to share her treat—she was planning on eating it by herself in front of the fireplace at the inn. She does a lot of things by herself, five years after graduation, and she's come to this little reunion with the pure desire to wallow in nostalgia by her lonesome.

Not many people have come to the reunion, since it's only a five-year one.

Harry and Ron aren't here—they're on a case with the Auror Department. And even if Ron _were_ here, it's not as if he'd find it fun or nostalgic to spend quality time with his ex-witch. Not when they can't even be in the same room as one another without Hermione's throat closing up.

They haven't seen each other since Christmas, a night in which she spent having a hysterical panic attack in the loo.

Somehow, she's found herself sitting in the Room of Requirement with several of her former classmates, their stomachs full of food from the reunion dinner, and they're playing Truth or Dare. There's couches everywhere, a fireplace with a roaring, hot fire, charmed lights strung above them . . . And a blindfold.

A blindfold made of black fabric that's knotted tightly around Draco Malfoy's head.

His platinum blonde hair is styled differently now. Gone is the slicked-back look. Now, he wears it short on the sides and back. The top is long and choppy, layered to hang in his eyes. He styles it so the top is messy, like he's just rolled out of bed to come to this reunion. It's a much edgier style than he used to wear.

She sort-of likes it.

And his body has matured. There's no baby fat left—only sharp angles and a jaw that cuts like glass. His skin is still pale but he's got dark circles under his eyes that show Hermione he doesn't get as much rest as he used to when they were kids.

His clothes are surprising to her, especially given she remembers him always being the one to wear suits underneath his robes. Not that she'd expected him to wear anything specific for the reunion, it was just throwing her off to see him wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and tight black denims with rips in the knees.

Not as much as the tattoos astonish her, though.

As she places the first square of chocolate inside of Malfoy's waiting, open mouth, she makes sure to pull her russet brown hand back as fast as she can. She doesn't want to accidentally touch his tongue. Or his lips. Or any part of him, actually.

Honestly, she doesn't really want to feed chocolate to him, but it's part of the dare. And since her anxiety is more terrified of everyone thinking she's a loser for not wanting to play, she's going to do as she's told.

The dare was from Theo, who'd dared Malfoy to be blindfolded and fed by one of the girls. It was also his bright idea to make Hermione be the one to do it and while she knows it's because Malfoy hated her so much at Hogwarts, it doesn't make her feel any less ostracized. Harry's not here, either and with her and Ron being on the outs . . .

It's almost like First Year again.

She knows Malfoy's got three guesses to figure out its her to avoid another dare. Her skin feels hot with the flames of nervousness that come from being watched. She tries not to focus on the room, however, choosing instead to watch the way he eats the chocolate.

Malfoy caresses it with his mouth, rolling the chocolate along his tongue as he savors the taste. Soft smacking noises can be heard only by Hermione as he parts his lips to talk around the food in his mouth, that smirk back on his face. He's sitting on one of the couches and she's standing in front of him, flanked by the other girls present. She's the only one feeding him but having all of their voices come from in front of him makes the game challenging.

"I'm not guessing yet, but I think I know who it is," he says, his tone lilting with amusement.

No one says anything. Amused glances are exchanged, laughter is stifled.

Hermione's heartrate intensifies as she breaks off another square of chocolate. She really wishes she wasn't the only one with food with her. It makes her feel embarrassed because no one else has any. It's weird when they'd justcome from dinner.

Parvati had asked why Hermione had chocolate in her purse, as though it were strange. And it _is_ strange to the rest of society. But to Hermione, it's practical. It makes sense to keep it in her purse.

Whenever she feels sad, the chocolate is there.

Hermione blushes when she realizes the chocolate is going to melt on her skin if she doesn't hurry and feed it to him.

As he chews the second bite, melted chocolate crisis narrowly averted, she stares at his body.

Aside from the fact that he's just as narrow as ever, he's definitely grown taller. This is her first time being near him all night but when she'd first arrived at the school for the reunion supper, she'd thought he looked a bit taller from across the Great Hall.

But good Lord, is he covered in tattoos.

She has no idea what's happened to him since school ended. He's a bit of a social enigma now. After he'd gotten sentenced to one year in Azakaban, he'd spent the four years since his release out of the _Prophet_ and in virtual hiding.

By the look of him, he's decided not to care about Pureblood propriety any longer.

He's got the sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to his elbows, revealing his wrists and forearms. The skin that she can see is covered in tattoos of flowers. He's got all kinds, from gardenias to peonies to roses to daisies. They're colorful and beautiful, the way they dance along every inch of his skin like he's a garden. They spill onto the backs of his hands and reach up the front of his neck, almost as though they want to take root and turn him into something life-giving and utopian. His fingers are tattooed, too, but instead of flowers, he's got alternating crescent moons and stars.

Hermione wonders if he's tattooed elsewhere.

And she doesn't have any issue with tattoos herself, given that she's the one who grew up around Muggles. But its certainly startling to see Malfoy not only with tattoos, but completely covered in them like he's trying to paint himself into a completely different person.

The tattoos cover him up and remake him into an enigma.

"Is it Millicent?" he asks, but he sounds like he doesn't think it's her. She's to the far right, beside Pansy, and she's smirking.

"Wrong." Theo is smug as he circles around to the back of the couch. He places his hands on it and leans down to the side of Malfoy's head. "I'll give you a hint. She's short."

". . . All witches are short compared to me, Nott."

"Exactly." Theo ruffles Malfoy's hair, who merely grins. Then, Theo's walking back to join the other guys. "Guess again."

Hermione's shaking as she breaks off the third chocolate square.

Malfoy's appearance has changed so much.

His entire right ear is pierced, intricate black stud earrings lining the shell and a tiny golden snitch hanging from the lobe. His fingernails are painted with black nail polish and there are rings on every other finger—they glitter black and silver in the light of the fire from the fireplace the Room has provided. And he's got this new disposition. Where in the past he'd been loud and open, now he's quiet and closed-off.

It's like he's a cat, seeing everyone around him as prey that he can't be bothered with unless he's hungry.

Meanwhile, Hermione knows she looks different than she did at Hogwarts. She's wearing her curls sewn up into a weave to protect her natural hair. The weave is chestnut brown, the luxurious deep waves falling to her elbows. She's wearing a high-waisted skirt with pleats and an oversized mauve jumper with sleeves that are way too long for her.

But she's anxious. She worries that everyone thinks she looks plain.

All the other girls are wearing make-up and fancy dresses and while she's happy for them, she finds she only feels sad. She wishes she were good at that sort of stuff but nothing ever seems to look right on her. She can't contour her face because her face is shaped like a square and she can't make the technique work. She can't seem to put eyeshadow on without overwhelming her catlike eyes because they're small, foundation makes her skin look dry, and her eyebrows are just a whole situation.

Hermione likes when other girls feel confident and pretty, she just doesn't think she ever will.

"Did we stop playing, or is my little chef eating my sweets?"

Malfoy's trying to be snarky. She knows that he's trying to be snarky because he's got that infuriating smirk on his face. It's the one that tilts up at the left corner, showing a flash of teeth and more than a bit of roguishness.

But she can't deny the embarrassing flip of her stomach at the " _my little chef."_

The chocolate goes into Malfoy's mouth more slowly than the last two bites. She's distracted by her thoughts and nerves, and she doesn't realize that she's so lost in her reverie that the chocolate's begun to melt. Her skin flushes with heat from her mortification as she realizes it's stuck.

Oh, Lord.

Oh, _Lord_ , this is embarrassing.

How's she supposed to get the chocolate to stay behind _in_ his mouth when she takes her hand _out_?

She's going to have a panic attack.

It's hurtling toward her like a comet, trailing the ice of fear in its wake. Hermione can see it now—everyone laughing at her, thinking she's weird or bizarre or wrong.

Just like Ron.

Ron had said there was something off about her and that it was the reason why she couldn't seem to make and keep friends. The reason why her only two friends were him and Harry.

But then, just when she feels her eyes beginning to sting and she can't get a stable breath in, Malfoy closes his lips around her two forefingers.

Hermione—no, the entire room goes still as Draco hollows his cheeks and sucks the chocolate clean off.

She freezes, her cheeks flaming with heat because not only is everyone watching, but this isn't exactly what she expected him to do. He's Draco Malfoy, aristocratic, put-together Pureblood with a side dish of cheeky. He's not going to play a game of Truth or Dare in a way that compromises his pride and cleanliness.

But apparently, he _is._

Her lungs spasm. She's been holding her breath. It stutters on the way out as he sucks the rest of the chocolate off of her fingers, still smirking as he chews.

"I know its you, Pansy," he says. "Only you have fingers that slender and soft."

Theo, Blaise, Seamus, and Dean start laughing and they don't stop until their howling causes them to put hands to their stomachs.

Why are they laughing? Is it because Malfoy just sucked chocolate off of her skin? Or because they don't think her fingers look slender and soft? She feels like she's being watched. She doesn't know what to do with her wet fingers.

She feels like his tongue is still against them.

Pansy's standing right beside Hermione, likely to help make the guessing game more difficult. She looks somehow the same yet different, with her cropped black bob and lips painted pink. She's been wearing a skimpy black dress made of satin all night and as she leans down towards Malfoy, her bare shoulder brushes against the fabric of Hermione's jumper. The thin strap of her dress falls down.

"Oh, come off it," Pansy says to Malfoy. "You haven't had these fingers on you since Sixth Year. How do you know what they feel like, seven years later?"

"Forgive me. Whoever's fingers they are, they feel just like yours did around my—"

"Watch it," Theo says, his voice a playful growl. "That's my girlfriend."

Malfoy just smiles.

It disarms Hermione for a moment. She's seen him smirk. She's seen the lopsided grins.

She's never seen him smile before.

Hermione's blushing so hard she feels like her soul is floating out of her body. It's on its way up to the sky, to the stars, to the furthest reaches of the universe where pulsars sing to nothing. The room is full of people she's gone through school and war with. People she's friends with and people she's not. Some who are only going to find it wickedly amusing when Malfoy takes off his blindfold and sees that it's Hermione Granger's muddy fingers he's just tasted.

She prefers the sting of hexes on the battlefield to the feeling of Draco Malfoy's saliva slicking her skin in front of them all.

"Wrong," Pansy says, and she's snickering. "You get one more guess."

There's only two girls left. Hermione and Parvati.

Hermione is blushing so hard, she feels lightheaded. She uses the same fingers he'd just licked and breaks off a fourth piece of chocolate.

"Open up, Draco," Pansy trills like she's singing a song. "Here comes the Nimbus."

Malfoy merely flashes a crooked grin in the direction of her voice, and then he parts his lips.

Trembling, Hermione fights against the wild beating of her heart and the clenching of her lungs, willing her panic to recede. She places the chocolate in his mouth, already knowing that it's going to stick to her fingers again. It feels like she's walking into the ocean in the middle of a hurricane.

Then, Malfoy's tongue is wrapping around her fingers again. It tickles this time—perhaps because she's expecting it—and her anxiety takes over. She tries to drag her hand back, but he's too fast. It's like he already expected what she was going to do.

Malfoy's right hand snaps out and grabs her left wrist from her side. He tugs her towards him right as his left hand comes up to grip her right wrist. He keeps her from dragging her fingers out of his mouth. She stumbles into him, her knees hitting the front edge of the couch between his legs, and then she feels his thighs bracketing the lower part of hers.

Up close, she can see that he is indeed very tall. She doesn't have to do much more than tilt her chin down to look at his face. He's not looking up—not that it matters, since he's wearing a blindfold—but he seems to have no care for the fact that what he's doing is very lewd and they're in the middle of an impromptu party.

And he doesn't know if she's Parvati or herself. There's no way he'd do this if he knew for sure she's Hermione.

Right?

Now, she's panicking. Her thoughts are going one million kilometers per hour. Everyone's watching and they're going to think she's some perverted nightmare if she doesn't move away. The fact that she's just standing there, _letting_ Malfoy do this?

It's just like Ron always said during the worst of their fights.

" _I don't understand why you think it's normal to want to have sex all the time. I mean, for guys, yeah, but for girls? It's just weird. And why is it that when I want it, you're not in the mood but the second you want it, you're pouting because I don't want to sleep with you? Something is seriously wrong with you, Hermione. I don't know what it is, but you should really get it checked out."_

Or some other variation of the vitriol.

Ron and Hermione could never work. They had never worked, and she knew now that she should have known the moment she kissed him that they would never work. There were fireworks when she kissed him in the Chamber of Secrets and that was the first bad sign. There aren't supposed to be fireworks.

Things exploding are usually a harbinger of something bad.

They'd argued all the time, couldn't agree on anything regarding where they were going to live or how they were going to spend their money, and went to bed angry six days out of the week. The only time he'd ever smiled at her was in public and only if they were with Harry and Ginny on an outing. At the time they'd ended things and went their separate ways, Hermione had never received a gift from him that she hadn't paid for herself and he'd never once taken her out for lunch or dinner.

There was also one other problem that had plagued their relationship once the hormones and honeymoon phase wore off after the war.

Ron didn't like sex.

It's not that he didn't _like_ it—he did, really. She knew he did because the first time they'd slept together, he'd been like a damn rabbit. It wasn't necessarily _good_ sex but sometimes it felt the way it was supposed to.

They'd been fairly active for at least a year and then Hermione's anxiety started to affect their relationship in ways she couldn't have predicted. It made her closed off, unreceptive to his touches. It made her scared to try new things and terrified of the routine ones. Soon, it got to the point where Ron didn't even bother with foreplay. He just rammed it in.

So really, he did fancy sex.

It's just that he hadn't fancied it with _her_.

" _What's_ wrong _with you?"_ he'd said the first time she'd gotten the courage to ask for a second round. " _It's really not normal for girls to want to have sex all the time. Are you having an episode?"_

That was the second sign, and she should have listened to it.

Because the next time they had sex, she was so deep inside of her head with anxiety over whether or not he was even attracted to her that her body was dry and clenched. He hadn't realized that that was probably a warning that they should stop. She hadn't realized that she could even _ask_ to stop, and he'd forced his way inside of her anyway.

It hurt.

It hurt, but Ron didn't seem to notice or care. He mistook her cry and the way she slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it as acceptance. The sex was awful and afterward, he came on her stomach like she meant nothing to him.

She agonized over it for days, feeling awful and ugly and like her skin was crawling. Then, she'd confronted him about it over an extravagant dinner she frenetically and painstakingly put together specifically to discuss the issue with him in a neutral, safe environment.

He'd lost it.

Hermione didn't like to think about the horrid things he'd said to her. Blaming her for not being wet, calling her a nutter for wanting to have sex in spite of being dry in the first place, telling her that her frigidity had nothing to do with him.

And then _,_ months later, when she felt like she was ready to try again, he wasn't interested. Every time she initiated, he didn't respond. If she tried to put her hands on his shoulders and massage him, gave him a flirtatious look, or outright suggested they spend time together, he acted like something was wrong with her on a deeper, mental level.

So she hates that she's standing here in the midst of a brewing panic attack, wrists grasped in Malfoy's hands as he lewdly licks chocolate off of her fingers. She can feel his tongue, soft and wet against the creases of her knuckle joints. His tongue strokes gently, flicking the same way she imagines it would feel if they were snogging. Malfoy's got the blindfold on but for some reason, Hermione is paranoid that she can feel his gaze on her. Her entire body feels like it's on fire.

Something pulses between her legs.

Shame fills her, spreading like poison through her veins. It runs from her heart down to the tips of her fingers and toes, and turns the brown skin of her face red. This is more than mortifying.

This is humiliating.

It's humiliating because everyone's watching. It's humiliating because she knows how much he hates her and has always hated her. It's humiliating because she thinks everyone's probably thinking she looks ugly like this. It's humiliating because they probably thinks she's acting like a slag for letting this go on.

It's humiliating because she likes it.

When he finally lets her go, her fingers sliding out of his mouth with a popping noise, she feels empty inside.

"I know who it is," he says. "It's Granger."

Merlin.

The way he says her name is like nothing she's ever heard before. She's looking too far into it, she knows she is, but it sounds like a purr. Like he's intentionally trying to caress the syllables like he'd caressed that chocolate.

"Correct," Hermione says, her anxiety causing her voice to come out as a squeak. She clears her throat, wiping her hand on her skirt. "It was me."

Malfoy stands up to his full height, removing the blindfold as he does. All six feet and four inches of him tower over her so she's forced to crane her neck to meet his eyes. It makes her feel strange. Small in the sort of way that a human might feel in front of a vampire.

Breakable.

Maybe she's just imagining that. Which is disturbing, given that he's Draco Malfoy and he despises her.

At least, he _used_ to despise her. Perhaps he's neutral towards her now. She can't tell.

He's looking at her like he's waiting for her to say something but she can't think of what on Earth he'd want her to say. She doesn't like being looked at like a puzzle. When they were younger, putting the puzzle together would lead to a picture of how to insult her the best. Malfoy was always good at that—figuring out what hurt the most.

Anxious at being watched so intently, she turns and walks back to the couch she'd been sitting on earlier.


	3. Chapter Two

**N** **orma** **l -** **Chapter Two**

"Well, that was . . . A thing," Theo says. "Okay, so that means you go next, Draco."

Malfoy walks over to a small table in the corner of the room, where he picks up his soda. He gives the ceiling a thoughtful look before he takes a drink and sets it down again.

"How about we make some changes," he says slowly. "How about we skip the dares and just do Truth?"

"That's no fun, though," Blaise complains. He, along with everyone else, is seated on the couches. "Why would we—"

Malfoy cuts him off.

"How about I sneak down to Snape's old closet and get some Veritaserum?"

Instantly, Hermione's hackles rise.

Veritaserum use outside of legal proceedings is typically illegal—it's a punishable offense. Especially if one doesn't have the proper potioneering license. Hermione knows that. Draco knows that. Everyone in the rooms knows that.

But its clear by the enthusiastic response everyone's giving that they love the idea. Truth or Dare feels like child's play when everyone can lie, and with a truth serum?

No one can.

Hermione clenches her hands into fists in her lap, pretending to listen to Pansy make up new rules for the game. She digs her fingernails into her skin until the pain causes her to lose her breath. All of this is overwhelming. She just wants to leave but the fear that everyone's going to talk about her when she leaves keeps her rooted to the couch. She wants to cry, too, but there's fear in that.

Malfoy comes back fifteen minutes later with a smug expression and a small glass vial of pearlescent liquid in his hand.

"We changed the rules," Pansy says, standing up to walk to the table with everyone's drinks. All the cups have Firewhiskey in them, except for Malfoy's and Hermione's. Pansy then holds out her hand to Malfoy, palm facing up. "Bring it here."

"What are the new rules, my Queen?" he says in a mocking tone. When he gets to the table, he leans back against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his denims. His thumbs remain outside, resting on the fabric of his jeans. He appears relaxed and its strange because from what she remembers of him during the war and the subsequent trials, everything about him was tense.

Pansy uncorks the small bottle and begins tipping one drop into everyone's drink.

"Everyone has to take the potion. Once everyone's got it in their system, we can start picking people to ask questions of. You have to answer the question _without_ trying to resist the urge. And I _know_ you know that Veritaserum makes it painfully clear when you try to resist."

"I'm aware."

Pansy smirks and hands him his can of soda, her eyebrows wiggling up and down. "Drink up."

Malfoy takes the can from her and takes a sip. That's all he'll need—Veritaserum is potent. As he does so, Pansy waves her wand and sends glasses floating towards everyone else. Hermione receives her own can of soda, as she is the only other one not drinking.

What if they ask a question she's too scared to answer?

"If you resist answering with the truth, then you'll have to serve the punishment," Pansy says as she prances over to Theo and plants herself across his thighs. She knocks back her Firewhiskey and sends the glass floating back to the table.

"How will we know if they're trying to hold in the truth?" Seamus asks. "Like, how will we know they're trying to lie?"

"If you fight against the potion, we'll be able to tell," Theo says to him, his arms wrapped loosely about Pansy's waist from the side. "Veritaserum causes adverse effects on the body when someone tries to fight it off. Sweating, for starters."

"Right," Pansy agrees. "So basically, if you try to lie, then we get to ask three more questions and not only do you _have_ to answer them, but you have to walk back to the entrance of the castle in your knickers or pants."

"What sort of questions are you going to be asking, then?" Parvati crosses her arms over her chest, glaring. "I'm twenty-two and I'm not interested in being grilled about my sex life."

"Well, you're going to just have to find out the sort, aren't you?" Millicent says, grinning from beneath her head of burnished bronze hair. "It's not fun without the sex questions, and you know it."

Parvati starts to protest, but Seamus' hand on hers silences hers.

"It'll be fine," he says in a loud voice. "Our sex life is pretty lively, so at least we've got naught to be embarrassed about."

Hermione flushes, as she always does when sex is brought up. Then, she feels depression starting to sink into the pit of her stomach.

Sometimes, it feels like normal things like sex and intimacy aren't something she deserves. It feels like it's all reserved for pretty girls with agreeable personalities that know how to do different positions. Girls that have experience.

She fears no one will ever love her the way she wanted to love Ron.

Her eyes are stinging again, tiny pins pricking her corneas. She has to close them for a moment just to keep them from filling up. She hates this, hates the way her emotions makes her feel. Her fear and the constancy of never knowing what anyone's really thinking. She's never been the loudest person in the room but right now, she's quieter than she'd be in a Library. There's no way no one notices.

Malfoy, who is leaning back against the wall again, tips his head back until he's looking down his nose at the room. His gaze slices through the distance and hones in on Hermione's. It traverses the planes of her face, drops to the way she's clutching her cold can of soda.

Gods be, she's already sweating.

She looks away to try and wrangle in her panic but he's still looking at her. He finds her eyes again as he sits down, stretching one leg out and resting his elbow on the arm of the couch. They hold eye contact for a moment, Hermione feeling like she's being dragged down into quicksand, and she wonders.

Why doesn't he seem perturbed by the fact that it's _her_ skin he's tasted?

The game begins.

They spend the next thirty minutes volleying questions back and forth across the circle. They ask humorous things, talk about embarrassing moments, and ask about secrets. With everyone having ingested the same amount of the potion, it feels like Hermione's group therapy circle but with a lot more laughter.

But there's no mirth or amusement within Hermione.

She can feel her panic rising ever-higher. The truth serum is in her veins, in her body, in her blood. She can feel humiliation brewing, like storm clouds on the horizon. The questions have been harmless so far but she knows. Eventually, someone will get frisky and want to ask sexual questions. It's inevitable.

The way Hermione jolts when Pansy finally calls her name embarrasses her. She doesn't want to look like a scared shell of herself, even though she is. The thought of everyone finding out how badly Ron shamed her, or how gutted her self-esteem is makes her want to be sick. And now everyone's looking at her, seven sets of eyes trained upon the girl who used to be louder than anyone in the entire school.

"You're the quietest little mouse here tonight," Pansy says, tapping her chin. Her eyes light up, and she sits up straight in her place on Theo's lap. "I've got it. What's your kink?"

"My kink?" Hermione appears confused, feels it the way it clouds her mind. It takes her a second where all she hears is the crackling of the fire, and then it clicks. "Oh. My _kink_."

Everyone laughs except Draco, who merely smirks and averts his eyes to the side, across the room. He takes another drink of his soda. When he looks at her again, she feels like the fire has jumped from the hearth to her cheeks.

She doesn't want to tell them because she doesn't want to feel more shame.

Her body begins to shake, her muscles aching. It feels like something's squeezing her throat, part panic attack, part Veritaserum. She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to appear like she's thinking and not freaking out.

But she can't breathe.

A gasp escapes her as she tries to take a breath. She can't tell if its her anxiety or the potion.

"Ahhhh, you better not try to hide it!" Blaise says with a raucous laugh, pointing at Hermione with one finger. He's grinning a grin that splits the umber of his face with white. "You're trying to lie, aren't you?"

Hermione shakes her head, trying to say that she's not, but all that comes out is a squeak. She slaps a hand over her mouth.

Caught.

"Looks like someone's got to walk back to Hogsmeade in their knickers," Millicent teases, wrinkling her nose. "And we get to ask you—"

"I'm sure she gets it, Millicent," Parvati says, glaring at her. "She's obviously a little freaked out right now. Hermione, you don't have to play if you don't want to."

But she has to. She has to because if she doesn't, then she's just going to be _that_ witch. The witch that's no fun at parties. And everyone is _looking_ at her, watching her. Probably waiting for her to do something else embarrassing.

Hermione's gaze finds Malfoy's again.

She feels stupid. He hates her. What's he going to do? _Save_ her?

No, she needs to get it together. Even if she doesn't feel as strong as she used to be—even if she doesn't feel like the same girl who traveled the countryside with Harry and Ron in search of Horcruxes—she needs to pretend to be.

So she squares her shoulders and lifts her head. Her teeth are clenched against the nerves but she remains as falsely-calm as she can. She puts on the facial expression that she always used to wear, the one where she's waiting to prove someone wrong, and lifts one eyebrow in Millicent's direction.

"Ask away," she says.

Millicent smirks. "All right. Are you a virgin?"

"That's boring, innit?" Theo says. "No, that's boring."

"Yeah, it's boring," Pansy agrees. "She was dating Weasley—she can't possibly be one."

"Unless she is." Millicent has never liked Hermione and its clear in the cruel twist of amusement on her face. "Are you, Granger?"

"No, I'm not," Hermione says, trying to keep her voice from quivering. "Next question."

Millicent opens her mouth, but Blaise interjects.

"We already know who you lost your virginity to, so let's not go that route. How about we go a different one?" He stares at her in curiosity for a moment, narrowing his eyes like she's a project. He studies her. "What's your fantasy? It's the same as your kink, but more specific."

"I know what a fantasy is, Zabini," Hermione snaps. "I'm not daft."

"Attitude," comes Malfoy's taunting voice. For some reason, it sounds like a warning.

Hermione shifts in her seat, feeling strangely chastised and more embarrassed than before. Her face is so hot that the back of her neck is sweating beneath her weave. She tucks one of the chin-length fringe pieces behind her ear, thinking to herself.

What _is_ her fantasy?

It's not like she's had the freedom to really think about it. Anytime she feels herself getting aroused or feels that pulsing below her belly, she feels ashamed all over again. Wrong. Abnormal. Like she's not supposed to be feeling it. She doesn't want to say it in front of everyone, either.

What if she really _is_ weird?

"Are you trying to lie again?" Seamus asks.

"No, no," Hermione says quickly, sounding panicked. "I'm just . . . Thinking."

There's an awkward silence as everyone exchanges glances and now, Hermione knows they think something's off about her.

What sort of person doesn't know their own fantasy?

"I-I suppose I . . . I guess I would l-like to be . . ."

Her gaze darts over to Malfoy.

He's leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, his soda can held loosely between his hands. His hair falls into his eyes, stylish and edgy, and he seems to be studying one of his floral tattoos like its changed in the past five minutes.

Suddenly, he lifts his head and looks at her. She feels flustered, like her words are tying themselves into knots on her tongue.

Tongue.

His tongue felt nice against her fingers.

"I'd like . . . To be . . ."

It might feel nice against her—

"Like to be what?" Pansy snaps her fingers and rolls her hand in the air, laughing. "Today, please. We don't have all night."

Hermione can't stop the words from coming out. They fall from her lips like jinxes, cursing her to a lifetime of mortification if she ever sees any of these seven people again.

"I want to be fingered. Properly."

The silence is thick.

Merlin. Merlin's hat.

Why has she said that? Why would she say something so _crude_? So crude and lewd and _disgusting?_ Everyone's going to think she's a slag. They're going to play nice until the moment they've all gone their separate ways and then, they're going to talk about her. They're going to say there's something wrong with her.

Hermione drops her head and stares at her soda can. There's a droplet of soda on the rim. She watches it slide back and forth, the can shaking at the same speed that she is. She can't believe she's said it. And in front of Draco Malfoy, no less.

Gods, it feels like they're still students.

"That's still boring," Blaise says after the silence grows unbearable. "That's like, run of the mill. If that's a fantasy, then whoever you're sleeping with is _not_ doing it right."

Hermione frowns, looking across the way at him in confusion. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Parvati sounds horrified. "You've never . . . ? Ron hasn't . . . ?"

"Ron and I aren't together, and we haven't been for a year now." Hermione squeezes her hand around her soda, avoiding eye contact with everyone. "But when we were, no—he wasn't one for the extra stuff."

"Wow. Just . . . I'm so sorry," Pansy says, grimacing. "But hey—at least it's not the end of the world. You've still got time to experience that sort of thing."

"Yeah," Seamus adds. "You're not decrepit yet."

"You can—" Hermione clears her throat, eager to be done. She's already got to mentally prepare for a Summer night walking back to Hogsmeade in her undergarments. "You can ask me the last question, someone."

"Draco should ask this one," Pansy says.

"Yeah," Theo says in agreement.

"I'm curious to see what he has to ask." Parvati points at him. "But you'd better not be cruel. Leave that nonsense in the past."

Hermione winces. She doesn't want any of that brought up—the bullying, the ostracization. She just wants to forget it ever happened so she can sit in this room, at this impromptu reunion party, and make it to the end without her anxiety completely eclipsing her.

Malfoy's watching her, a curiosity dancing behind his eyes like the flickering of candle flame in the dead of night. Like he's finally noticed her hiding in the corner of a dark room and instead of calling her out, he's just going to watch her for a while. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he tips his soda to his mouth and drinks one more time.

Hermione would be lying if she said she didn't feel it between her squeezing thighs.

Finally, after a gentle tilt of his head to the side, he speaks.

"What is it you want when you're fucking, Granger?"

Pansy and Millicent's jaws drop simultaneously. Parvati's eyes are bulging out of her head in shock. Seamus is beet-red. Theo and Blaise both look like they want to laugh. Malfoy's got a smirk on his face that could rival a demon's—like he knows exactly what he's asked and how it's going to affect her.

Prat.

Hermione is panicking already but she knows she has to answer. She doesn't want to find out she has to walk back to Hogsmeade in the _nude_. If Pansy tries to make her do that, she might hyperventilate.

And he's a complete and total tosser for asking this question, too. He's worded it in a way that he already knows the sort of answer she's going to give. The answer the serum's going to _make_ her give. He hasn't asked her what she _likes_ because she knows that _he_ knows she doesn't _know_ what she likes. He's asked her what she wants because he knows that's how to get a list. She's angry with him and it feels just like the sort of anger she used to feel with him all the time.

In his own way, he's bullying her, and she doesn't like it.

So, with a furrowed brow, she glares at Malfoy and answers.

"I want to feel out of control," she says, the Veritaserum causing the truth to fall out of her mouth like she's willing. "I want to feel like I can't have anything I want unless the other person lets me have it."

She stops for a moment, hearing Ron's voice in her head, seeing him giving her looks of disgust.

But it's strange.

It's like the only person in the room with her is Malfoy.

"What else do you want?" he asks before he takes another drink of his soda. His eyes don't leave hers. It feels like he's pinning her to the couch with them. What's even stranger is that she doesn't mind.

Which is weird because it's _Malfoy_.

Hermione hesitates before she says, "I want to feel overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed?" Pansy says, and she sips her drink. "Like, overstimulated?"

Hermione nods, trying to pretend this is as easy as an occupational interview. If she thinks about it too deeply, then she'll freak out. She doesn't want to freak out.

Millicent says, "That's like, multiple org—"

"Yes," Hermione cuts in, before she says the word and her nerves get the best of her. Her finger taps against her soda can. "That's what it—what it is."

"Have you ever experienced that before?" Pansy asks, looking surprised. "Overstimulation?"

Hermione shakes her head.

Pansy pouts in response. None of the boys say anything. Malfoy sets his soda can on the floor beside his foot.

"What else?"

Hermione looks away then back at him again. "I suppose I'd like to feel like someone sees me as theirs, and only theirs. Like someone wants me all to themselves because I'm that beau—" She stumbles over the word because she doesn't think she has much beauty if Ron wasn't interested in her. "Beautiful to them."

"Is that what I asked?"

Hermione's brows twitch together in puzzlement. Is he . . . Angry? He sounds angry. Why is he angry? Is it because she wants to be called beautiful?

He's Draco Malfoy and she's a Muggleborn. Of course he thinks she's ugly. Her heart sinks, a stone in water.

She feels like a teenage witch.

"No, I—" His tone alone has thrown her off-kilter. "I want it."

His gaze flickers up and down her face like he's trying to understand it. "What else?"

Hermione wishes he would stop asking but no one seems interested in him stopping. They're all watching in bated silence, on the metaphorical edges of their seats as they learn things about her that she feels immense shame for. Things that Ron would have been sick at the thought of.

Sometimes, she thinks that it's because it's _her_ he would have had to do those things with.

"I want to be called cute. Or good. Or soft. Nice words that don't reduce me to some masculine brute. I'm a woman and I want to be treated like one."

As she speaks, Hermione feels another wave of sadness come over her. She remembers the time she put on a dress just for Ron. She remembers owling him and trying to be the woman she thought he wanted. She remembers writing _I want you to come home and fuck me in this dress._

And she remembers him coming home, arguing with her over the dishes, completely ignoring her, and then leaving to go play Quidditch with his friends.

She's cringing now, thinking about it. It was more than humiliating. The shame is so pressing, even now, that she looks away from Malfoy. She stares at the wall behind his head.

"What about sweet?" Malfoy asks, his eyebrows rising as the word practically rolls off of his tongue. "You wanna be called sweet?"

There's something in the word. Something that pistons through her like a rogue spell, bouncing around the recesses of her body and landing straight in the center of her heart. A warmth she doesn't understand settles over her. Mostly because she doesn't know how sweet she is. She's got a bit of a temper and she's not very nice. She's not one of those inherently _nice_ girls who does everything with a smile and selflessness.

When he says it, he's looking at her like he doesn't think she's sweet at all.

"Yes," she replies. "I want that."

"What else?"

Hermione glances around at everyone else, wondering why they don't find it odd that he keeps asking questions. It's not like she can stop him. It's not like she has the power to stop herself from answering.

Why does he want to know all of this so badly?

Why is he looking at her from beneath his lashes like that?

Why can't she stop pressing her legs together?

"I want to know what it feels like to not be able to breathe."

Malfoy seems to go still. He's still leaning forward on his elbows now, but he's rubbing the back of one palm with the inside of the other. He's studying her like a painting again.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes, I-I want to . . ." Hermione lowers her gaze again, her right hand leaving the soda can so she can brush her fingers lightly along her collarbone. "I want to feel helpless."

Malfoy huffs. "Oh, _really_."

Theo and Blaise exchange glances, and then look at him. They seem mildly amused and more than a little surprised.

What are they surprised about?

Hermione sits there, fidgeting. It feels like word vomit is coming up, expelling itself from within her body so that she can finally hear it. Maybe then she can accept that its something that she wants without feeling sad about the fact that it's something other people have felt she didn't deserve.

"And I want to be told I'm beautiful," she says, and then she's had enough. "But that's it. I don't want to answer any more questions. Seamus, what about you? You go next."

Seamus is eyeing her. "I'm a little more interested—and disturbed—in the wanting to be called beautiful. Is that not normal for you?"

"No." Hermione's brow furrows. "Why would it be normal?"

"Because you're twenty-two years old," Blaise splutters, nearly choking on his drink. His expression is perturbed as he looks her up and down.

"I don't know." Hermione feels ashamed all over again. She shrugs one shoulder. "I don't think age has anything to do with it."

"Well—"

Malfoy lifts his head from where he'd dropped it to look at the carpet, his stare cutting across the distance to hers. He speaks, talking over Blaise.

"You've never been called beautiful?"

More anxiety. She's tinkering with the tab on the soda can, seconds away from breaking it off entirely. It feels like she can't breathe. Malfoy's gaze drops to watch, then focuses on her face again. Her stomach flips over, the same way it did when she, Harry, and Ron rode the back of that dragon.

It feels like he's ripping rose petals away from her, leaving her core exposed.

"Not by a man," she says. "I've been called intelligent, savvy, clever . . . Not that."

Parvati leans over the arm of the loveseat she's sitting on, reaching to place her hand on Hermione's shoulder. She appears sympathetic. There's pity in her eyes. "I'm really sorry, Hermione."

"Well, we all think you're pretty," Theo says. "Right, guys?"

"Of course," Pansy says, smiling. "We may not have gotten along when we were still here, but I've always though you were quite pretty."

"Me, too," Blaise says, nodding. "You're gorgeous and you always have been."

Hermione feels like a deer in front of a lit wand. She tries several times to speak—to thank them—but she feels strange accepting the compliments. What if they're lying? Or worse—what if accepting them makes her look delusional?

"I've always thought you were a looker, Hermione, and so has Parvati," Seamus says as he and Parvati smile and nod at one another.

"Plus, you've got the whole package," Parvati adds. "You _are_ quite clever, you're pretty, and you helped Harry win the war. Anyone would be lucky to have the privilege of calling you beautiful."

Hermione laughs, a nervous titter, and drops her head.

She feels like a completely different person from who she used to be. She doesn't feel clever. Sometimes, it feels like her brain is moving through sludge, trapped in the murky depths of her depression. The war feels like it ended centuries ago. Now, the thought of doing any of the things she did back then terrifies her and makes her muscles tense up. She feels like a fraud.

Ron's wrecked her.

"If it's my turn," Seamus then says, "then I'm asking Malfoy a question."

Malfoy tears his gaze off of Hermione and gives him an icy look. "Don't you dare."

Seamus grins like a smug wolf. "You're the one who derailed the game and decided to take it there. So we're going there. What are _your_ kinks?"

"And we want the full list, tosser!" Blaise says, heaving a boisterous laugh after he swallows the last of his Firewhiskey. "You just put your poor _little chef_ on the spot, so now it's your turn. Eh, Hermione?"

Hermione blinks. She tries not to stammer, tries to be normal.

"Revenge is—it's sweet," she says, her lips twitching upward even as her lungs seem to squeeze.

"Be thorough," Theo taunts. "Wouldn't want to miss anything."

Pansy says, "We're taking notes."

Astonishment hits Hermione like a gust of wind. How can everyone be so debonair about all of this?

Except that she knows how. She knows why.

Because everyone else is normal.

Malfoy watches her for a moment and then his mouth curls. His eyebrows rise.

"Fine. You want to know my kinks? I'll tell you. I like being in control. Complete control because as long as I'm fucking her, she's mine. I like taking my hand—"

He lifts his hand and flutters his tattooed fingers.

"—and wrapping it around her throat. I like making her feel like nothing's never going to start until she's come at least three times before I'm inside of her, and I _really_ like seeing her blush when I tell her how good she is. Is that thorough enough for you, Nott?"

The silence afterward is ridiculously long. It makes Hermione feel uncomfortable. Like she wants to squirm. Everything he's said, the inflection of his tone—somehow simultaneously gravelly and soft at the same time . . .

He's experienced.


End file.
